


Home Is Where The House Is

by adarkercolour



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode: s05e01 The Gang Exploits The Mortgage Crisis, Fashion & Couture, M/M, Mentions of Nascar, Mentions of homelessness, Mentions of sex work, Mentions of the confederate flag, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Snack trays and snaccs, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarkercolour/pseuds/adarkercolour
Summary: I wrote too much again."Vic isn’t sure what to say. Of course he wants to come, but he’s not sure he wants to do it here, in the bedroom of some random white trash family, while wearing a suit he’s pretty certain makes him look like an over-ripe banana."





	Home Is Where The House Is

Let it never be said that Dennis Reynolds is a man who cannot commit.

To a woman? OK, no, he can’t commit to a woman. Not really. And no, he’s never committed himself to a particular “cause” either. Unless the advancement of oneself counts, and surely that’s the most genuine and pure cause of all. Apart from a few martyrs throughout history, your Joans of Arc, your Gandhis, and so on; who can honestly say their prime objective in life is not to survive and thrive, to grow and prosper; to live as your best self? Self love _is_ in many ways a selfless act. You become better for those around you, be it more refined, or better looking, or smarter. Richer. More aspirational. You become other people's inspiration to improve and, hence, the reason the world improves. Sure, you're not feeding the poor, you're not helping the homeless _directly_ , but then again in another way, you almost are. Serving up hot tasty morsels of "what could be" to sad, pathetic wretches.

This lack of conviction to a cause though, Dennis always finds it works in his favour. It makes him all things to all people. A god amongst mortals; able to adapt and infiltrate, while never once losing sight of his singular ambition: to prosper at whatever cost. It's how he exploited that gay crowd so effectively back when Paddy's got a big queer following for about a week a few years ago; how he ended up banging that hippy chick while her douchebag boyfriend was chained to a tree like a goddamn idiot. Whatever he needs to be, he'll be; and god DAMN if he doesn't commit to _that_.

Dennis' ability to commit to a bit is the reason he is currently at the Uneeda Sign on South 10th Street waiting for the clerk to return with the yard markers he's ordered. He's been waiting for a good minute and a half at this point, and he's getting antsy, foot tapping with tense impatience. He knew the guy behind the counter was going to be a pain in the ass. He just had that look about him; he was a neckbeard, a fucking mom's-basement-dwelling World of Warcraft ork-obsessed virgin who wasn't fit to lick Dennis' shoes. He'd waddled off, the signs were "in the back" he'd said. Where was this "back" he spoke of? Timbukfuckingtu?

Dennis checks his watch again. 15:32.

Deep breath.

He balls his hands into fists so tight there are crescent shaped indentations left in his palms where fingernails have dug into flesh. Where is this fucking incompetent -

"Here you go Mr. Honey" the clerk chimes out happily, tramping out from whence he came, looking ever so pleased with himself. Dennis marvels at how such a large... _man_ , he supposes, has quite such a tinkling little voice, like a fairy ringing a tiny bell. Dennis attempts a smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace.

"Great" he says, although his tone suggests there's nothing great about it. "How much?"

Neckbeard places the signs onto the counter with all the delicacy of a wildebeest: "Lemme work that out for you, sir". He starts bashing on a calculator next to the till, and Dennis rolls his eyes in frustration. He's not even sure why. Going out into the real world and dealing with trash just always makes him irrationally angry.

"That’ll be 156.75 including tax", the clerk practically jingles at him. Dennis drops Frank's Amex on the glass counter top, watching chubby fingers with hairy knuckles complete the transaction and print him a receipt, before he's being offered help to carry the signs to the car, if Dennis has one, because they're on the heavy side and a difficult shape and he wouldn't want to bash them on the door frame, would he.

Dennis scoffs. Firstly, that this lump of person would be of any assistance to him in any way, at all, ever, is laughable. Second, how would he have got here if not car? Does he look like a bus person? Jesus Christ.

"I don't think so," Dennis answers, pocketing the card and picking up the signs which, shit, are fairly bulky and a lot heavier than they would appear. One bent sign later, Dennis is in the Range Rover. Before he sets off back to the house though, he needs to get into that Hugh Honey headspace. Reaching into the glove compartment of the car, he picks out a CD labelled “Bee Sides”, an hilarious pun if he does say so himself, and pops it in the player.

He leans his head back against the seat and takes a few deep breaths in and out.

_I tried to discover / A little something to make me sweeter / Oh baby, refrain / From breaking my heart_

Inhale: you’re a successful gay realtor.

Hold it: you’re in business with your male lover.

Exhale: you’re going to flip this house.

And repeat.

_I’m so in love with you / I’ll be forever blue / What religion or reason / Could drive a man to forsake his lover / Don’t you tell me no / Don’t you tell me no_

Don’t you tell me no.

By the time You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) starts up, Hugh is navigating the Range Rover out of the parking lot with a friendly smile and wave for the driver that stops to let him merge into the flow of mid-afternoon traffic which will take him to Vic.

 

************************************ 

When he gets to the town house on the outskirts of the city, he is completely… Hugh. “Vogue” is just finishing as he pulls into the driveway, and he feels content. The sharp edges have been rounded off. He’s successful, and loved, and happy. The mix CD was a stroke of genius. Instant character shifter. Mac said it was stupid, although he did admit there were some jams on there.

But Mac isn’t as committed to role-playing as Dennis. For Dennis, it’s exciting. More than exciting in fact, it’s verging on orgasmic. He loves to see how far he can go, what he can make other people do when the conditions are just right. Manipulation is an art and he’s Leonardo DaFuckinVinci. The thrill he gets from controlling someone, making them feel things and do things, and knowing that to him it means nothing, it’s not even _him_ , is fucking exhilarating. Knowing he can just walk away, shuck off the old skin and go back to being his actual self? Knowing he can say and do things he _never_ would as Dennis, and it’s ok, because it’s not him? It’s freedom. It’s rapture.

It’s becoming a kink.

Mac meanwhile, he just likes tagging along with him. He always thinks Dennis goes overboard. He had sighed and rolled his eyes when Dennis had shown him his “Character Cribsheet” that morning.

“Really, dude?” Mac had said, taking the carefully printed paper in one hand. He had just been woken by Dennis barging into his room, no knock, no “good morning”, just jostling him from sleep with a “Read up, if we’re doing a scheme, we’re doing it right.”

“Yes, really. We need to be convincing if this is gonna work,” Dennis had retorted, looking at his own print-out. “I am Hugh Honey, 34 years old, realtor for 12 of those, I worked my way up from an office junior to owning my own company at 27. I am vastly successful, and my ability to charm a sale is renowned across the Philadelphia realty industry. Are you listening?”

Mac is stifling a yawn and stretching. “Yeah man, I’m learning how rich and charismatic you are.”

Dennis nods once and continues – “OK. I was adopted at a young age by a wealthy older couple who couldn’t have children, my birth mother was a crack addict with whom I reconnected a few years ago and paid for her to go through rehab. I also paid for her to go to culinary school and she is now a celebrated chef. My adoptive parents are both dead, and every Sunday I visit them in the Trinity Cemetery and take a bunch of lilacs, as they were mom’s favorites. My greatest regret is that I wasn’t able to come out to my father before he passed away, but mom was very supportive when I did come out. I met you at 30 and initially mom wasn’t keen, but she grew to love you, as did I. We met when I was volunteering at a local soup kitchen and you came in, you were basically working as a rent boy at that point –“

“Wait a minute”, Mac says, sitting more upright in bed now, “So we’re a gay couple and you’re super successful but I was a… a tramp whore?”

“Essentially yes” Dennis says, one eyebrow raised as he peers at Mac over the paper he’s holding. “What’s wrong with that? I saved you from the streets and god knows how many venereal diseases and supported you through getting your realtor’s license and then we became business partners. It's _romantic_. And given our names it was kind of fate.”

“Well, I mean yeah, with names like ours you’d have to go into business together, it’d be stupid not to” Mac says thoughtfully. “But like, why do we have to be gay? And why do I have to have been a rent boy?”

“The reason we have to be gay is because people won’t like the idea of two straight guys being in business and selling houses together. It’s too predatory. Gay guys are non-threatening, they don't buy and sell houses for the money, they do it for their love of interior design! It’ll lull people into a false sense of security, at which point we take them for all they’ve got. And if you’re doing the bad realtor role to my good, which you are, then we need an explanation for your abrasiveness hence, y’know, the getting plowed for money and being destitute and shit.”

Mac doesn’t look completely convinced, but he starts reading his cribsheet.

_Name: Victor (Vic) Vinegar_

_Age: 32_

_Occupation: Realtor_

He skims down the page, picking up choice phrases like “Says he owes his life to Hugh”, “History of drug abuse”, “Once spent a month living with a senior member of the Supreme Court, lots of weird kinky shit, got paid well however”.

“Why is my favourite movie Brokeback Mountain” Mac says suddenly, sounding affronted, “Isn’t that a bit obvious? It’s not even that good.”

“It’s because you identify with Heath Ledger’s character and his internal struggle, as you feel it reflects your own. And you think Jake Gyllenhaal is hot,” Dennis answers. “I want you to learn all the information on that piece of paper, OK? And we’re gonna need to practice being a couple. People are gonna see right through it if you start freaking out and being weird.”

“Oh Jesus, you’re not going to make me have sex with you are you?” Mac says, his expression hard to gauge.

“No Mac, they’re not going to ask to see us banging are they, but we need to be comfortable with being in each other’s personal space y’know, touching each other, maybe a hand hold every now and then” Dennis replies impatiently. The guy was too much at times, honestly.

“OK. I guess that’s OK. It’s going to be weird, but OK. It’s not real so it doesn’t count.” Mac seems to be speaking to himself as much as he is to Dennis.

“I made you a CD to get you into the right headspace, I find they help” Dennis says, holding out a disc which says “Vic’s Mix” on it. “It’s mainly Judas Priest and Pansy Division.” Mac’s still reading the cribsheet, and Dennis decides to sit next to him in bed. He settles himself on top of the comforter, pressed close to Mac’s side, and lays his hand on Mac’s, his fingers stroking lightly over the palm.

Mac eventually drops the sheet of paper, and sighs. “Alright, when are we gonna start with practicing touching and shit, then?”

Dennis had made Mac breakfast at that point, because he felt like it was a Hugh thing to do, and they’d gone suit shopping. Dennis entwined their fingers as they walked down Chestnut Street together, and he’d felt Mac twitch reflexively before he relaxed into it a little, and even started brushing his thumb up and down Dennis’ hand. When they stopped to look in a shop window at something, Mac had rested his head on Dennis’ shoulder, and it almost felt nice.

As he makes his way into the house, stopping to insert one of the yard markers into the manicured lawn, he just hopes they did enough prep. This is it, and he feels giddy from the excitement.

***************************************

“Hey, Vic. You got that other snack tray?” Hugh says, fluffing a cushion on the couch as he passes.

 “I certainly do, Hugh. Certainly do.” Vic smiles as he carefully places the tray of vol au vents on the dining room table.

Hugh checks his blazer. It’s corn yellow apparently. He thinks it brings out the green in his eyes and the warmth of Vic’s skin tone. He brushes an invisible crumb from his lapel and starts fussing over Vic’s collar.

“OK, great. People are gonna be here any second.” Hugh runs a hand through his hair. “I want them to be well fed…”

Vic responds encouragingly, “The house looks nice. The house looks nice.”

Hugh isn’t sure what it’s like to feel zen, but he thinks he does right now. “It does look nice,” he concedes, looking around at the magnolia walls, and eggshell skirtings, the absolute blandness that makes him feel… well… safe. It’s middle America, the white picket fence and attending PTA meetings and having a dog called Buddy, or Jack, and working 9 to 5 at the office and thinking that a couple beers on the weekend is “letting your hair down”. It should be so predictable and solid, but then this recession comes out of nowhere and bam, the Ikea rug is pulled from under you and you’re flat on your ass on your solid teak parquet floor while someone like Frank is coming round to kick you out on the street with your rugrats. Speaking of which -

“Hey, hey, hey! You jerks aren't supposed to be here when my mom and dad are at work!” the girl brat says, rather brattily.

“Your mom and dad aren't at work. That's why they lost the house. They're probably at the dog track getting wasted,” Vic fires back immediately. Hugh is getting concerned about his penchant for getting riled up at children. If this thing goes well, he's thinking about taking their relationship to the next level, and maybe getting in on this baby scam that Dee's got going on, but no one's going to buy a new gay daddy who's fighting with ten-year olds.

"Dude, eat my boogers" the boy kid sneers, apparently unruffled by Vic's bad realtor act.

Vic lurches towards the boy, shouting "You eat my boogers!" and Hugh has to physically stop him, hands on his partner's shoulders, standing between him and a child not even half their height.

"Whoa, whoa!" Hugh speaks soothingly, like you might talk to a moody toddler or a spooked horse. "Hey, Vic, Vic. Whoa. Smell that vinegar boiling up inside you." Vic is still looking past him to the kid, a scowl on his face, and Hugh can feel the tension in his shoulders. Hugh moves his hands to Vic's cheeks and looks him in the eye, hoping Vic will stop glaring at the boy and focus on him instead. "But I need you to save some of it for the customer. Do that for me, OK, baby boy?"

The pet name seems to do it, as Vic finally looks at him, gaze softening. He nods and Hugh lets go of his face just as Frank arrives and ushers the children away. Hugh is glad for the interruption, he didn't want to have to try and separate a fight between a fully grown man with anger management issues and a pre-pubescent little shit.

“Listen, I need you on my team. You on my team?” Hugh asks. He needs this to go well.

“Yeah. I'm- I'm on your team.” Vic replies, still sounding pissy.

“All right, great. Yeah?” Hugh is fiddling with his shirt cuff, then the bits and pieces on the table, lining things up, making it perfect.

“Yeah. I just… He gets me…” Vic’s about to go off about the goddamn kid again, and Hugh cannot deal with it right now.

“That's good,” he says dismissively, and then there’s the sound of knocking at the door and his heart skips. “Oh! Here we go!” He rubs his hands together and goes to let their potential buyers in, Vic following close behind.

 

**** 

  
“Oh! That was amazing, bro! You think that's gonna work?” Hugh can’t believe it, but that went so much better than he’d expected. There’d been some moments where he thought they were losing them, especially when Vic had made a confusing statement about the wife pegging him, but Hugh thinks he brought it back thanks to his natural charm.

“Bro, it already did work. You heard the skirt. She said, "Yes, I will buy this house." That is a binding verbal contract. Now, I heard it. You heard it. And that pussy husband of hers heard it too.” Vic is clearly feeling the same buzz Hugh is, he’s practically vibrating with energy. “If they back out now, I will find them, I will strangle them, I will beat them into oblivion!” He’s gesticulating wildly as Hugh grins at him. “I'm full of the vinegar!”

He looks so happy, and Hugh remembers why he fell in love all those years ago. Sure, the guy has problems controlling his temper and is almost definitely crazy, but they complement each other perfectly. The sour to Hugh’s sweet. Hugh’s reaching forward to grab Vic when Frank comes in asking how the viewing went, and Hugh explains as briefly as possible their plan to combine the baby and house schemes. He needs some alone time with Vic to prep for this next stage.

Once they’re on their own again, Vic turns to Hugh: “Guess we should go get some different clothes if we’re going to be doing the rich adoptive parents thing, hey Dennis?”

Hugh frowns, “Dennis? My name’s Hugh, Vic. That’s who we are for the foreseeable future. If we stay in character we stay believable, baby.” He places a hand on Vic’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “You like being my husband though, right?”

Vic clears his throat, and shifts his eyes nervously, “Yeah course, De- Hugh. I owe my life to you.”

Hugh smiles broadly. “I’ve got an idea. How about we go see what we can find to wear from the closets upstairs? I can’t imagine there’s anything worth having because that guy looked twice the size of either of us and dresses like a spectator at NASCAR, but it can’t hurt to look, right?”

“He _does_ look like he watches NASCAR…” Vic ponders, “I don’t understand how white trash have this nice a house?”

“You mean HAD this nice a house, Vic” Hugh says with a smirk, eyebrows raised; and Vic grins back.

“Good point dude. Let’s go get us some new outfits!”

Vic starts making his way up the stairs and Hugh can't help but bite his lip at the sight of his ass in those dress pants. There's nothing quite like a well-tailored suit to emphasise a man's natural assets, and fuck if Vic doesn't have some spectacular assets. What do they call it on porn sites? A bubble butt? Hugh exhales forcefully. He's already getting hard.

Vic sticks his head over the bannister, "Yo, you coming up here or not?"

Hugh gathers himself together and heads up to the master bedroom. "Sorry, I got distracted" he says as he walks through the door, locking it behind him. He doesn't want those goddamned kids disturbing them.

Vic's already got his head in the closet, and a muffled "There's a lot of confederate flag covered shit in here, bro" emanates from inside.

Hugh screws up his face in disgust and makes a "blech" noise. "Vile," he comments as he starts rifling through the drawers in the night stand. No clothes in here, he's just being nosey. Nothing much interesting either though, just some furry handcuffs and a sad looking bottle of lube. How depressing. Hugh closes the drawers and turns back round to where Vic is throwing various items of clothing onto the floor behind him.

"Oh, oh," Vic says suddenly, "How about this?" He spins round holding a plaid shirt up to himself. "It's a bit Brokeback?"

Hugh gives him a withering look, "Sure Vic, we'll just get you a cowboy hat and some assless chaps and you'll be set. No. No, I'm thinking we need something in pastels, maybe a nice Ralph Lauren polo shirt, chinos, you know?" Vic looks slightly dejected at Hugh's refusal to entertain the plaid and drops it onto the growing pile, which Hugh thinks is starting to resemble a funeral pyre for the rotting corpse of fashion.

"Hey, hey. C'mere" Hugh says softly before Vic can go back to raiding the closet, and he walks towards his partner, sad that the boyish energy he’d radiated earlier seems to have disappeared. He takes Vic's face in his hands again, much like he had downstairs, and studies him. His mouth is a petulant pout, bottom lip stuck out, full and spit-slick. His eyes are sad too, dark hazel with a hint of brown, and they remind Hugh of fallen leaves in autumn. Despite his despondency though, there’s still a glint there, like he could tip over the edge into mania at any second. That's what had attracted Hugh to him in the first place, he supposed, Vic's almost childlike ability to feel a spectrum of emotions so strongly and so vividly in a matter of minutes. Not to dwell on the past or future but to live completely in the moment, to have an unending faith that Good Things Will Happen even though all evidence would suggest otherwise. Hugh was more calculated, more clinical, more pessimistic.

No, not pessimistic. _Real_ istic.

Vic swallows exaggeratedly, and opens his mouth to speak, but Hugh silences him by pressing the index and middle finger of his right hand to Vic’s parted lips, his other hand moving to the back of Vic’s neck and gripping firmly. "I'm so proud of you, you know that, right?" Hugh says. His tone's soft, but his gaze is razor sharp, and Vic feels exposed by it. He wants to look away, break eye contact, but he can't; and while Hugh can see his trepidation, there's also something else there: curiosity, and maybe even want, like a rabbit cornered by a wild dog; terrified, but at the same time wondering what those teeth will feel like tearing at its flesh.

Hugh's eyes flick down to where his fingers are pressed against Vic's lips, and he cocks his head to one side, as if weighing up his options. The grip on Vic's neck tightens and his brow furrows in response, but Hugh continues, resting his forehead against Vic's. They're close enough that Vic can feel the soft brush of Hugh's breath against his face, and he can smell the subtle warmth of his cologne, sandalwood with an undertone of what he thinks might be vanilla. Whatever it is, it's expensive, he knows because Hugh had raged at him about it earlier that day when he'd caught Vic, having already doused himself in Drakkar Noir, about to cover himself in it. He'd thought it was a two colognes kind of occasion given how important it was to impress the potential buyers, but Hugh had said nothing was a two colognes occasion because they didn't exist, and that Vic would have been better wearing lighter fuel than the fragrance he was, because it would have been less offensive to his nose. Vic couldn't even think up a good comeback, coz Hugh always smelled great to him, cozy and familiar. If Vic ever stays away from the apartment for a couple nights, when he returns that scent lets him know he’s home safe.

Hugh's got his eyes closed now. "You make me so happy, Vic" he whispers, and drags his fingers away from Vic's mouth, down to his lapel which he grasps in a balled-up fist. "You're my everything." He's swaying slightly, and Vic can't help but mirror his movements. He's afraid to breathe, and his lungs are burning in his chest as Hugh rests his fist against it, creasing his blazer.

"I've got nothing without you, baby boy" Hugh says, and then he's putting his lips to Vic's, softly, mouth slightly open, and the hand at Vic's neck is pulling him closer, fingers brushing against strands of chestnut hair made darker by cheap, sticky gel.

Initially, Vic startles at the kiss, and his eyes widen in surprise, but Hugh's touch is gentle and Vic can't help but settle into it like he's sinking, solid and heavy, down into the unknown. It's funny, he feels like he might be drowning. His lungs are on fire and his brain is swimming, trying desperately to collect his thoughts. After several agonising seconds of Hugh's lips pressed chastely against his own, Vic puts his hands on his partner's shoulders and pushes him away carefully.

Hugh frowns at the reaction, and Vic thinks he sees fear in his eyes, perhaps even a crease of worry across his forehead. Vic takes the opportunity to breathe, inhaling shakily as he tries to appear unfazed. His lips are dry, so he runs his tongue over them, and drags the bottom one between his teeth, smiling a little at the way Hugh's eyes follow every tiny movement.

Hugh goes to say something, but it's his turn to be silenced as Vic pulls him back violently, crushing their mouths together in what feels more like an act of aggression than a kiss. Vic's technique lacks finesse, his mouth open and tongue sliding against Hugh's within moments of their lips making contact. Hugh's more subtle: he prefers to build up to something this filthy, but he's not about to complain, especially when he hears a small moan escape from Vic as he tugs gently at his hair.

Vic's hands are verging on frantic, moving from Hugh's shoulders down over his chest and sides, to his waist and the slight curve of his hips, his arms eventually wrapping tightly around him as they continue making out. Hugh, meanwhile, barely moves; preferring to instead keep his hands where he can control Vic's motions a little more easily.

The initial heat of their tryst seems to cool as Vic relaxes, so Hugh fists a hand in his hair and tears at it, whilst simultaneously removing his mouth from Vic’s and digging his teeth into the soft skin of his neck instead. The noise Vic makes in response is hard to describe, but Hugh makes sure to file it away in his memory as future jerk off fodder.

Apparently spurred on by the punishment meted out by his partner, Vic abandons the tender embrace he’d been holding Hugh in, and he curls his fingers round Hugh's waistband, pulling his hips closer with a violent motion as Hugh licks softly against the spot he had bitten down on moments prior. It already feels like it might be bruising up, and Vic wonders if he can pull off wearing a polo shirt with the collar popped to hide it.

His mouth still on Vic’s neck, Hugh can feel the rapid thrum of his pulse under his lips, while the unmistakeable solidness of Vic’s erection pushes against his hip. He can't help but smirk with satisfaction and he re-tightens his hand in Vic's hair before whispering, "You're hard..." into his ear. Vic can feel his face begin to redden, a pink flush creeping up his neck. "Oh my god, you're so _easy_ " Hugh says lowly, almost scornful. "You act so tough but _really_..."

Hugh moves the hand that's been holding Vic's lapel down between them and places it flat against the front of Vic’s pants. “… You’re just my little helpless boy who can’t control himself, aren’t you?”

Vic whimpers quietly, because of the degrading way Hugh’s talking to him or the pressure against his cock, Hugh’s not sure; but the sound goes straight to his dick either way. Fuck, he loves having this much power over someone. He’d meant what he said, he’d have nothing without Vic. But Vic would _be_ nothing without him.

Vic’s grinding shamelessly up against Hugh’s hand, any attempt to play it cool apparently having been abandoned as he nuzzles his face into the crook of Hugh’s neck. He tries to inhale as much of Hugh’s scent as he possibly can into a chest which feels constricted and tight from the desperate need he has to satisfy Hugh, to make him happy, to prove his own worth and feel the warm glow of his affection and love and pride. Vic presses his body against Hugh’s anywhere he can. He wants to crawl inside Hugh’s skin, curl up inside his rib cage in the space just below his heart, its rhythmic beat lulling him to sleep.

Hugh, however, makes a noise of derision and uses the hand still tangled in Vic’s hair, brittle and stiff with dried gel, to pull him back so they’re facing one another again, a few inches separating them. Vic appears halfway to bewildered, it’s like his face can’t decide whether to look surprised or confused; and Hugh has to laugh.

“Look at you, you’re so desperate for it” he says in a snide tone, and Vic finds himself responding almost reflexively.

“So are you dude!” he yelps incredulously, before reaching out to touch what appears to be a familiar tell-tale shape in Hugh’s pants. Hugh’s too quick though, and grabs the extended arm at its wrist, twisting just enough that Vic can’t wriggle loose without causing himself further pain.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Hugh growls, just above a whisper. “You touch me when I tell you to. Not before. Understand?” Vic nods, chastened by Hugh’s vitriol.

“Good boy, ” Hugh hums in response, his demeanor changing so fast it makes Vic’s head spin. “If you’re _really_ good, I’ll make you come. Do you think you’d like that?”

Vic isn’t sure what to say. Of _course_ he wants to come, but he’s not sure he wants to do it here, in the bedroom of some random white trash family, while wearing a suit he’s pretty certain makes him look like an over-ripe banana.

“Jesus fucking Christ Vic, do you want me to get you off or not? Because I’ve got better things to do than wait around for you. You’re worse than a chick on prom night, can’t decide whether to give it up to her big jock boyfriend. Everyone knows he’ll be balls deep in that bitch by midnight, and everyone knows you’d do anything to get me on your dick, so quit playing the blushing virgin and just fucking come over here.”

Vic knows better than to argue, not that he wants to anyway, and moves back into position, placing his hands gently on Hugh’s waist like they might start slow dancing. His eyes are wide and his face is open and genuine. Hugh might even say he looked innocent, but he knows better. That butter-wouldn’t-melt look was as fake as his “bad realtor” façade, and while he might try to keep a lid on his more deviant side, Hugh knew that Vic liked some weird shit, and a lot of it.

“What a surprise,” Hugh remarks sarcastically as he starts to unbuckle Vic’s belt, “I knew you couldn’t resist the thought of me touching you. You’re just so eager for it, aren’t you?”

Vic’s watching his partner’s long delicate fingers deftly deal with his belt and begin undoing his pants. He murmurs in agreement at Hugh’s question, eyes moving from the hands working on freeing his cock to Hugh’s face and back again.

“I’m going to jack you off right here and you’re going to come all over my hand, ok?” Vic’s head is swimming again and he thinks he can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He moves slightly, a motion akin to a nod but not quite, but Hugh’s paying no attention to him now anyway. “And then I think I’ll make you eat it maybe. You can use your tongue to clean me up. Speaking of which, stick it out.”

Vic looks puzzled, too busy thinking about why it’s taking so long to get his pants open or off or whatever the fuck.

“Stick out your tongue” Hugh says, his voice patronising, and Vic does it without thinking, no questions asked. Hugh is very happy to note how well trained he’s got him, and he huffs out a cheery breath before running his right-hand down Vic’s tongue from palm to tip, slicking it up nicely.

Hugh’s even more impressed when Vic doesn’t close his mouth afterwards, instead just standing there with it agape, tongue out and waiting for further instruction. Hugh presses under Vic’s chin, encouraging his mouth shut, while he forces his saliva-covered hand into his partner’s pants. It’s not particularly smooth, the suit is well-tailored and there’s not a lot of space, but he manages to curl his fingers round Vic’s cock and give it a couple of rough, clumsy jerks. “See? If you behave, I’ll look after you,” Hugh says through gritted teeth as he pumps his fist up and down. It’s uncoordinated and definitely not his best work, but Vic seems to be into it anyway, breathlessly panting in Hugh’s ear, hands still at his waist and squeezing reflexively. Hugh twists his palm over the head, and finds Vic’s already pretty far gone, pre-come smearing across his hand. Vic moans quietly and bucks his hips.

“Jesus Vic, you’re worse than a teenage girl. You’re wet as fuck and I’ve barely even touched you,” Hugh says, and Vic whimpers again. He seems to enjoy the debasement, and Hugh makes a mental note to use this to his advantage at any and every opportunity. He gives another few strokes and then removes his hand, Vic making a noise of complaint. Hugh ignores it, and instead places his hands firmly on Vic’s shoulders and begins kissing him again. Vic kisses back immediately, desperately trying to grind his hips against Hugh’s, and making soft noises into his mouth.

Hugh knows he has limited time before: a) that redneck family returns and start trying to break down the bedroom door, or b) Vic comes and realises what’s happening and gets that post hand-job comedown of guilt and regret he’s so prone to for some reason. As such, he has to act. Still moving his mouth against Vic’s, he starts to add pressure to the other man’s shoulders, pushing downwards. It’s not aggressive, but it is… Persuasive. Vic moves back, his eyes meeting Hugh’s questioningly.

“Get on your knees,” Hugh demands, increasing the force he’s exerting, and Vic drops down heavily, looking up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. He looks almost like he’s not sure what’s happening, and Hugh nearly laughs at the concept. He starts undoing his own belt as Vic kneels up higher and rests his cheek against the front of Hugh’s thigh, hands wrapped around his legs just above the knee. “You gonna suck me off baby?” Hugh says as he gets his dick out and jacks it a few times, close to Vic’s face. “You’re being so obedient, I think you deserve a treat, huh?”

Vic nods silently against Hugh’s thigh, as Hugh pushes his pants down a bit more. Vic doesn’t move, and Hugh looks down at him, calm as a Hindu cow, and says, “You gonna put your mouth on it, or you just gonna stare at it all day?”

Vic frowns and experimentally licks a stripe up the underside of Hugh’s cock, a very small smile on his face as Hugh makes a satisfied hum and his dick twitches. Vic does it again, placing a tiny, virginal kiss against the tip, and Hugh can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Come on guy, you’re not kissing your grandma, fucking get your lips round it,” Hugh growls, and puts a hand on the crown of Vic’s head, pulling it closer to his erection.

To his credit, Vic does open his mouth, albeit he doesn’t do anything further, and Hugh sighs, before physically putting his dick onto his waiting tongue. Hugh presses against Vic’s head again, insistent; and Vic finally gets the idea and seals his lips around Hugh’s cock, his hands moving round to Hugh’s ass, still clad in the thick cotton of his dress pants.

Vic sucks gently, looking up to Hugh for some sign if what he’s doing is ok. He moves his head back and forth slowly, but Hugh isn’t paying attention to him. He appears to be staring ahead, immobile. Vic pinches his ass, and that gets a reaction.

“What the fuck?” Hugh looks down at him, angry. Vic raises his eyebrows in response, his lips stretched around Hugh’s cock, and Hugh has to admit he looks pretty hot. He tightens the grip in his hair, and tugs gently. Vic closes his eyes and starts moving his head a little more vigorously then, his tongue running up and down Hugh’s length, licking at the tip when he reaches it.

Hugh sucks in an erratic breath, and tries not to move his hips too much. Vic’s mouth feels fucking great. However, he seems to be unwilling to go too far down, and like a good third of Hugh’s dick is getting no attention whatsoever. So, he starts to push against Vic’s head. He doesn’t want to force him, but at the same time, he thinks Vic is the kind of guy that does well when he knows what’s expected of him. There’s a little resistance from Vic, but then he’s sliding down, keeping a good level of suction; before Hugh feels his dick hit the back of Vic's throat, and Vic’s pulling his head back to stop himself from gagging.

“Good boy,” Hugh purrs, and starts to move his hips in slow, minute motions, not wanting to put Vic off. Vic however, seems to be getting into it more and more, gripping Hugh’s ass tight as he bobs his head.

This goes on for a few minutes, and it feels good, but Hugh knows he’s not going to come unless they step it up a bit. He takes one of Vic’s hands in his own, moving it so that it’s around the section of his dick which won’t fit in Vic’s mouth, and starts pushing it back and forth. Vic gets the idea, and starts stroking the base, moving his hand down and over Hugh’s balls and back again.

“Oh yeah, that’s it,” Hugh says, watching Vic’s head as it moves. Vic has actually got a pretty good rhythm going, with his fist meeting his lips on the upstroke. Hugh’s vaguely aware of the absence of Vic’s other hand on his ass, and he angles his head to see that it’s found its way to Vic’s trousers. He’s jacking himself off while he sucks Hugh’s dick, like getting Hugh off is getting _him_ off. Hugh smiles hazily, and runs his hand over the kneeling man’s head, a display of dominance masquerading as a caress. This is what it feels like to be worshipped.

“You like the taste don’t you,” Hugh says, grabbing the underside of Vic’s jaw, and tilting his face upwards. Vic’s a real mess, his chin coated in spit and pre-come, and Hugh’s hand gets covered as well. “Eurgh, fuck Vic you’re covered in… in _fluids_ and you don’t even care!” Hugh says disparagingly, and Vic raises his eyes to meet the look of disdain on his partner’s face. Hugh wipes his hand off in Vic’s hair, and Vic closes his eyes and speeds up the hand on his dick and moans around the dick in his mouth.

Hugh is getting close, and he can’t help thrusting forward, Vic trying his best to relax his throat around the intrusion. The roughness seems to be doing it for him though, Hugh can feel his fevered breathing, hot exhalations of air from his nose hitting sensitive skin whenever Vic pulls his head back, and he’s groaning pretty loudly. Hugh’s more of a talker than a moaner, by and large, but Vic just fucking goes for it; characteristically unleashed and intense, like he is in most areas of his life.

“Are you going to eat my come?” Hugh says, stroking Vic’s jaw and feeling the muscles tense up the more of his dick that he swallows. “I think you want to don’t you?” Hugh doesn’t listen for answers, the questions are mainly rhetorical and Vic doesn’t bother trying to respond. Hugh will come wherever he wants anyway.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so close” Hugh’s saying, and Vic increases his efforts accordingly. “Oh fuck, baby boy, you’re so…” Hugh trails off, and Vic wishes he’d finished the sentence. “Look at me” Hugh says hurriedly, “I want to see your eyes.”

Vic does as he’s told and their eyes meet. “Uh, fuck,” Hugh murmurs, and his hips jerk and Vic swears he can feel the dick in his mouth get harder. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come in your mouth, oh fuck I'm gonna come,” Hugh repeats. Vic’s still jerking himself off and looking up at Hugh with eyes shrink-wrapped in tears as Hugh goes deeper into his throat, chasing his orgasm.

All of a sudden it’s there, and Vic feels warmth on his tongue as Hugh fucks his mouth, both hands holding his head still and snagging his hair. Hugh’s making this odd kind of growl, and he rides out his orgasm until he feels his cock starting to soften, at which point he pushes Vic’s head away from him. Vic collapses back onto his heels, and Hugh notices that his hand is no longer down the front of his yellow pants, although they're still wide open. His shirt’s untucked and he looks dishevelled to say the least.

“Shit.” Hugh mutters astutely. He’s brought back to earth by a loud knocking from the other side of the bedroom door.

“What the fuck are you doing in there you fucking perverts!” accompanies the banging, and it’s a guy’s voice Hugh doesn’t recognise so he assumes it’s the patriarch of the pathetic trash family who the house got repossessed from. “Are you fucking in there? If you’ve messed up my sheets I will knock you both the fuck out you fucking fucks!” Hugh laughs lightly. Vic is still on the floor, on all fours and breathing heavily, and Hugh assumes he’s cramped up from kneeling for so long.

“You ok, bud?” Hugh says, and gives Vic’s back a reassuring pat. He leans down to get a little closer, “You want me to return the favor, huh? I don’t wanna give you head, but I can jerk you a bit, how would that be?”

Vic shakes his head aggressively, and says “No” rather croakily. He starts to get up, and Hugh realises he must have already come, probably at the feeling of Hugh spurting hot and white down his throat. Poor guy must have busted a nut right in his pants. Hugh doesn’t envy him, at all.

More banging. “I know you’re in there, I can hear you!”

“Jesus Christ man! Back off!” Hugh suddenly yells, making Vic jump, and the noise stops abruptly. “We’ll be out in a minute, ok?” he says at a more reasonable volume.

He touches Vic’s arm gently. “Hey. We’re ok, yeah?” he asks. Vic just nods and then winces as he rearranges the front of his trousers.

“Good,” Hugh says, as he goes to unlock the door. “You got your phone?” Vic holds it up in response.

“Excellent. Google what time the Ralph Lauren store closes. We need to go get a baby.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this please let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> I hope Mac and Dennis being referred to as Vic and Hugh throughout wasn't too jarring. Basically, I think Dennis would be totally method about his various "roles". Also he would take advantage of being able to manipulate people sexually, because duh he's Dennis. I think the fact he knows Vic/Mac feels guilty after hand jobs means it's probably not the first time they've done this shit. 
> 
> Song title is by the Young Knives and called Fit 4 U. It's a great song. 
> 
> Let me know of any amends I need to make, please!!!! Especially anything that's un-American (and by that I mean vocab, not like, "You didn't mention the troops enough"). 
> 
> Some "facts" for all y'all:  
> \- Buddy and Jack were two of the most popular names for dogs in the late 00s, when this episode is set, I looked it up on the interweb  
> \- There is actually a store called UNeeda Sign in South Philly on 10th Street, I don't know if a Neckbeard works there. There is a Wawa nearby that has bad reviews  
> \- All the songs on Bee Sides are gay anthems. Vic's Mix is rock coz Vic/Mac is a secret punker. 
> 
> Join my new campaign #GetMacLaid2K19
> 
> See me on Tumblr, it's like SeaWorld but more depressing (brownwithafrown)


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